Page 89 of Hang the Moon
Five days. That’s how long it was until she boarded a plane back to Philadelphia.
At least, that was her plan. She hadn’t said anything to the contrary, but he hadn’t asked, too nervous to hear her answer. To hear her say nothing had changed. That notenoughhad changed. That she was still planning on moving to London.
By the time they reached his apartment, he’d psyched himself up. He could do this. Broach this conversation. Tell her how he felt. Tell her he wanted her to stay.
Annie set the succulent on his bar, then leaned back against the counter, smiling. “I had fun tonight. Hands down, that was the best sandwich of my life. I’m going to have very,veryfond dreams of that sandwich.”
He reached out, cupping her jaw, smoothing his thumb against her cheek. She leaned into his palm and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. He’d never considered it to be an erogenous zone before, but the feel of her warm lips against his skin had his heart beating faster and his breath quickening. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
He’d taken her to Beth’s Café, a local greasy spoon. It had been featured on the Food Network and was a favorite of his, for both the food and the quintessential Seattle atmosphere. In the mornings, you could easily find people in business attire ordering coffee and pastries at the counter, whereas in the evenings, theater kids belted show tunes while couples cozied up in the booths near the back of the restaurant.
He smiled and stepped closer, boxing her in against the counter. She sucked in a quick gasp that made him bite the inside of his cheek. “I, on the other hand, am going to have very,veryfond dreams of your Meg Ryan impression.”
As a joke, Annie had insisted on ordering a turkey sandwich with all the fixings on the side à la Sally in the infamous diner scene inWhen Harry Met Sally. Much to his delight, she’d even gone so far as to—quietly—reenact theI’ll have what’s she havingfake-orgasm scene. It was as hilarious as it was arousing, a novel combination.
She craned her neck back, staring at him from beneath her lashes. “Was it an Oscar-worthy performance?”
He had a feeling she wouldn’t be winning an award for her acting any time soon. “I feel like that’s a trick question, so I’m going to stick with saying I prefer the real thing.”
Annie snickered. “You don’t want me to fake it?”
Fuck no. He lifted a hand, running his thumb along the curve of her cheek. “I’d rather it be real.”
All of it. He wanted everything about them to be real. Not a vacation romance, a layover on her way to London, but something that could have an actual shot at longevity if Annie would just give him a chance.
Annie’s hands drifted down his chest, lingering on the button of his jeans. “Faking it’s overrated.”
She undid the button and his breath caught in the back of his throat. Fuck.
Her fingers nimbly lowered the zipper and the waist of his jeans slackened around his hips. All his thoughts left his head as she reached her hand inside his boxers and wrapped her fingers around his dick.
This was not at all what he’d meant, but talking could wait.
It would have to because he couldn’t form words, let alone coherent ones.
An embarrassing groan was the most he could manage.
Annie chuckled against his shoulder and gripped him tighter, making his eyes roll back in his head. “You want to take this to the bedroom?”
He swallowed and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stilling her hand, causing her to frown. He shook his head and dropped his hands to the button of her shorts, fumbling to work it free. “Too far.”
As soon as her shorts hit the hardwood, she stepped out of them. She gasped quietly when he wrapped his hands around her thighs and lifted her onto the counter. She threw her head back, narrowly avoiding the cabinet behind her, and laughed, sharp and bright.
“Cold,” she said, wiggling atop the granite.
He smiled crookedly and stepped between her thighs. “Sorry?”
She reached down, whipping her shirt up over her head.
Barely-there cream lace did a poor job of covering her breasts, but it did astellarjob of making it hard for him to speak, words dying on his tongue.
Mostwords.
“Fuck.” He bent down and wrapped his lips around her nipple, laving it through the lace.
Annie keened and the sound made his cock swell. Her hands flew to the back of his head, burying in his hair, tugging, holding him to her chest. “Shit, that feels nice.”
Nice?He could do better than nice.
